Spiced Apples
by Liberty Roth
Summary: Maker knew he didn't need the distraction of a crush on his leader. But as the scent of spiced apples washed over Alistair, he knew it would be pointless to resist. Alistair/fem Surana.
1. Chapter 1

I just finished Awakenings and though I adore Anders (expect Anders fanfics in the future haha) I decided that I should first write a story about my first Dragon Age crush: Alistair. In this story he's paired with Eleks, my elven mage with an affinity for tattoos and a burning hatred for darkspawn.

Possible **spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins.**

* * *

_The Grey Wardens were supposed to be heroes, _Alistair couldn't help but think as he sat on the log around the campfire. In his lap was a wooden bowl full of… something. Wynne had said it was some kind of tuber or root or something. Right now, anyway, it didn't look very appetizing, looking more laundry water and mashed potatoes mixed together and less like dinner. Warily, the ex-templar glanced up from his seat to see how everyone else was reacting to the new… dish.

Zevran and Leliana were talking quite animatedly, which drew his attention. They were making wild hand gestures… with their bowls still in their hands. Alistair almost laughed when he realized that every time they made a gesture, a little bit of the meal would slip from their bowls. Clever.

Morrigan was too far away for him to know if she was trying to eat the soup (stew?) or not. Probably not. Did demons even eat? Maybe she had sacrificed a small goat and was drinking its blood, instead.

Oghren, as usual, was attached to his bottle like he was born with it there.

Sten was eating it, though he didn't look happy about it. Well, wait, no. Sten didn't _ever _look _happy_, so Alistair guessed this was as cheerful as the qunari would ever get. How he was choking down the mashed tuber/root/dishwater, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe it had to do with his war training.

Wynne was, obviously, eating her own soup. She looked happy about it, though she was pretty old and Alistair couldn't help but think maybe her taste buds were going out of commission.

And the Warden…

Huh.

Eleks was asleep. The elf was on a log adjacent to Alistair, but she was soundly asleep as she sat. Her left hand was in her lap, relaxingly cupping the bowl that was cradled in the folds of her mage robe. Her head was in her right palm, which was in turn supported by her elbow being propped against her knee. How bizarre that she could sleep so soundly.

Alistair was about to wake her, when he stopped. She looked… she looked so tired. Not just the usual lack of sleep tired, but _aged _tired. Had she always had those little crows feet around her eyes? He wasn't sure. He felt bad for not noticing how ragged they were all running her… it had to be a lot of pressure to put onto one person's shoulder.

He took a moment to contemplate how much responsibility she had to be undertaking as he slowly forced the tuber stew down his throat. (It honestly wasn't that bad tasting, mostly just bland, textured plants mixed with water.) Eleks had only been a Grey Warden for a _day _when all of this was pressed upon her… because he hadn't wanted the responsibility or the leadership, she had been forced to carry them.

And now she looked sad and tired and like she was being forced to put on a mask of hope and determination when Maker knew how she _really _felt on the inside. As Alistair quietly stood from his spot on the log and moved her bowl from her lap to the ground, he made a mental note to have a good talk with her some day soon.

As he hooked one arm underneath her legs and used the other to support her back, he also made a mental note to ask her about her tattoos. A brightly colored blue tattoo wrapped around the wrist that dangled down towards the ground as he carried her towards her tent. With her mage robe hiked up slightly, he could see a purple swirled design trailing up her ankle to her calf. Alistair wondered if they had any significance… they probably did.

He also wondered if he imagined how amazing her hair smelled. He caught a small whiff of it as he gently laid her down on her bedroll inside her khaki tent… it smelled sweet, at first, like lilacs. But as he pulled himself out of her tent, it changed to a spiced apple smell.

Alistair didn't get long to contemplate the change of scents, however, as soon Zevran was smirking over at him from his spot with Leliana. "What?" Alistair demanded, aware of how his cheeks and ears were starting to warm.

"Nothing," Zevran said with a short laugh. "I cannot help but notice that you were in there for an awfully short amount of time. Do not get me wrong, I am not trying to offend you. But I believe you are doing _something_ wrong if you retreat from her tent in two minutes."

Leliana gave a short giggle, before pressing her mouth over her hand. "Oh, Alistair, please do not get offended. Zev was only joking, of course!" she called softly as he stomped off to his own tent. Away from Leliana, away from Zevran, away from lewd remarks.

And away from the scent of spiced apples.


	2. Chapter 2

I must have tried to start this chapter five different ways. Let's hope this one sticks. :)

* * *

He could not do this.

He could not have a crush on his leader. Alistair realized this would complicate things, it would distract him from battles and should heartbreaking decisions ever need to be made, he was worried he would act with his heart and not his head.

But… he had _layers_ of armor, after all and a _sword_. What did she have? Some flimsy mage robe that would be easy enough to slice through and a wooden _stick. _It might be good for casting missiles and fireballs at her opponents, but when a darkspawn got up close and personal, what would it do? Frighten it away because it was scared of getting a splinter?

He frowned at himself when these thoughts came. He had never been that concerned for her before. She was a Grey Warden, after all, and a _mage. _He had seen how deadly they could be firsthand. So he told himself that he could not do this. He could not let his feelings get tangled up and ruin whatever chance of peace Ferelden had by the taking on of this suicide mission.

And yet he could not seem to tear his gaze away from her.

She started to notice his change in behavior and confronted him about it. "Alistair," she began. "Are you alright? You seem sort of… distracted. And being distracted could be dangerous. I _know_ it's hard to fight day after day after _day_ and have no one really recognize what we're doing, but _please _don't tell me that you're having second thoughts about this. I _know _you're worried for your life and I…"

He stopped listening after that, torn between laughing and pulling her into a hug. He kept his hands down, shaking his head. "Eleks," he said, probably interrupting her. No, he had _definitely _interrupted her – she had an irritated expression on her face. "I was actually… sort of concerned about… _you._"

"Uhm, can I ask why?" she questioned, looking confused. There was a definite trace of irritation in her expression, too. Maybe she didn't like to have people think she needed looking out for.

"I don't know… it's just that… you know, you're a mage. And you don't wear any armor. And your staff doesn't exactly have sharp bits on it so you can stab someone if they get too close to you."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm a Grey Warden. Just as you are. I drank the same darkspawn blood you did. I have the same dreams you do. I might not be able to wield a sword, but _you _can't wield magic," she said, shaking her head. "I assure you that I'm not planning on letting any enemies close enough to me to have to worry about stabbing them. Mages are kept in the Tower for a reason. We're dangerous. I'm just as capable as you are, if not more so because I can dispose of my enemies from a distance. While your concern is appreciated, it isn't necessarily… um, necessary."

This was spiraling in a direction that Alistair didn't want it to go. He raised his hand defensively. "No, no, don't get _offended, _I'm trying to be _nice_-"

"I know you are. But… I don't need it. I promise you. I can control magic and I can control myself and I can dispatch of enemies just as well as anyone else. I thank you for trying to be nice, Alistair, but… I'm elven and I'm small and I'm a girl, but that doesn't mean I'm a helpless five-year-old."

He sighed. It seemed that when he tried to explain himself, he only succeeded in making her angry. So he let her carry on and tell him over and _over _and _over _that she wasn't defenseless and could protect herself in a fight. Alistair always found that actions worked better than words. Whether that meant shoving a sword through someone's head or simply letting them blow off steam, it was true.

So in the next town they ventured through, Alistair found a small armor shop. It was modest and smelled like leather, with various trinkets haphazardly hung up on the walls. They jangled as he opened the door, making the wind rustle them.

"Hey, hey, shut the blasted damn door!" The man that was watching the shop was incredibly small, with a crazy and wispy head of white hair. Wrinkles were upon wrinkles as he glared at Alistair with icy blue eyes. "I don't need my shop fallin' apart cause you like to take your time gettin' in here!"

"Sorry," Alistair said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was looking for some armor."

"Oh, well, sorry. You won't find any here. This is a bakery, can't you tell? Kids these days! Yes, I have armor! What are you looking for?" The ex-templar was sort of frightened now. The man had bustled out from behind his table and was sizing Alistair up. "You're kind of wide in the shoulders, aren't you? I'm sure I can find something for you, just hold on a minute and I'll get my measuring-"

"Whoa, whoa, no. Hold on. It's _not_ for me," he said, holding his hands up to stop the small man from talking. "It's for someone else. I need something small and light enough to be worn underneath clothing, but heavy enough to actually stop damage."

"You're buying armor? For someone _else? _Andraste's ass, why can't they just come in here and get it themselves? You their errand boy? You gonna take that? You're a big fellow, you could smash someone's head easily, I'd wager. 'Specially with that sword of yours. Why you takin' orders?"

"I, er, wanted to give it to someone I know. As a… gift. I suppose."

"You _suppose? _You don't know if you're giving it as a gift or not? How do you not know that? You're the one giving it!"

Alistair flushed, shaking his head. "I _know_. I'm just not sure she'll like it, that's all." Hopefully Eleks wouldn't get even angrier when he presented her with the armor. He just wanted to make sure she was safe, for the love of the Maker! What was so wrong with that? (_Everything_, a voice in the back of his head told him, _because you're not _just _making sure she's safe, it goes beyond that._)

The man stared at him, before laughing. "You're giving a _girl _a set of armor? As a gift? What the hell happened to just giving 'em flowers? Women. Next thing you know, they're gonna be wanting a giant dragon for their anniversary…" Though he was laughing as he dug out a set of light and sturdy armor, the shopkeeper sold it to Alistair at a discount. "Get some flowers, too, as a backup plan."

Alistair _did _get flowers, but not as a backup plan. He left both the flowers and the set of armor in Eleks' tent when she was busy collecting firewood for their camp. He briefly thought about leaving a note saying something like, _from Alistair, _but it occurred to him that he really didn't need to. She wasn't stupid. She would know.

And when she went into her tent to fetch her staff to start their fire, she came out smiling. She knew. Alistair's heart jumped unexpectedly and violently, unlike it had ever done before. "Thank you," she said, sitting next to him and thumbing the armor. "I appreciate it. I… wanted to apologize."

"There's no need, Eleks. I understand that you must be underestimated a lot. I just didn't want you, er, thinking that _I_ underestimate you, too. I just… worry about you. You're the glue holding us all together and if you were hurt or killed…"

She was thoughtful for a long while, vaguely casting a spell as they sat. Fire erupted from her hands, cascading into their campfire that was a few feet away. After doing this, she spoke slowly. "So you're protecting me… because you don't want me hurt, because you care about me, not because you think I'm weak?"

He laughed. "You act like I'm crazy. I want to make sure we both survive this," Alistair explained. He then hastily added, "That we _all _survive this."

"Oh. Well, I want you to survive this, too," she told him. Eleks' fingers went to her necklace, where she wore the vial of darkspawn blood. Alistair watched her, noticing something he had never noticed before. On the silver chain was another token, this one a small and silver ring. She removed it, motioning for him to lean over. "I'm not going to kill you, don't look at me like that."

He felt like telling her that he wasn't looking at her like _that _because he was frightened of _her_, but because he was frightened of what his heart was doing. It really, really needed to stop doing that… surely she would notice! "What are you doing?" Alistair asked, feeling her fingers go around the necklace that matched hers. She added her ring to it, letting it fall and clink gently against the darkspawn blood.

"I want you to have this. You gave me something to protect me. I'm giving you something to protect you," she explained, her fingers drawing away from the skin of his neck. "A mage at the Tower gave it to me a long time ago because we were friends. I want to give it to you, one of my friends."

"Huh. Funny. You consider me your friend. I always thought I was more of, I dunno, a crazy Grey Warden that you couldn't get rid of." He smiled. "I'm glad you do, though."

That was what he said, anyway. On the inside, however, he wasn't glad at all. Because friends didn't make his heart hammer.


End file.
